Little Lion Man
by lemondrizzlecake
Summary: His father was right about him all along. There was nothing loveable about him, just a big, hot mess that could only create destruction and cause pain to others. And why on earth would anyone want that? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story started out as a character study of Miles for In The Aftermath of a Fire, but then it became quite long, and given how much I enjoy writing from Miles's perspective I decided to make it into its own thing. The inspiration for the title came from a fan video by EMarie on YouTube, check it out if you haven't seen it: it's quite old, but in my opinion it is one of the best edits on his character. Just so you know, this person doesn't know I exist, I just genuinely like the video.**

 **The story is divided into three parts, and it is an introspective piece following Miles relationship with his father as it escalates during 14A. Most of the scenes and virtually all dialogue are taken straight from the show, with a few missing moments here and there. This first chapter covers episode 14x02 -** _ **Wise Up**_ **.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **WARNING: This story deals with child abuse, and the chapter contains some mildly graphic descriptions.**

* * *

LITTLE LION MAN

…

 _Weep little lion man,  
_ _You're not as brave as you were at the start_

(Mumford & Sons - Little Lion Man)

…

…

Chapter 1

…

The first time his father hit him was right after that god-awful morning at the golf club. Miles could not even believe his nerve: pretending to want to spend time with him, bond with him. Seriously, he played it like a consumed actor, he even told him all the right things: that he felt like he didn't know him at all anymore, that they both should work towards not fighting so much… it seemed so genuine. Instead, it was all a little show for the press. Unbelievable. But most of all, Miles could not believe himself, falling for such a trick, trusting that his father would stop and finally listen to all the years of him crying out for his attention. How could he be such a fool, hadn't he learned anything about his dad, by now? He was so angry, so mad, mostly at himself, for letting his father hurt him this much, again and again.

It was hardly the first time they had a heated altercation, it wasn't even the first time his father grabbed him by his arms and waved him around, but what happened next took him completely by surprise. Again, when will he learn? All these years, and still he expected his father not to actually hurt him — he wondered where this blind faith came from. Because the mighty Miles Hollingsworth II, this time, did not limit himself to tossing him around a little, overcompensating for the fact his son had by now grown a tad taller than him. No, this time he literally _threw_ him into a wall, stupid painting and stupid heavy frame and all.

The shock, and the sharp pain in his back, completely froze him in his feet. They say it's a common reaction in times of crisis, isn't it? When in danger, against all odds, our natural, animal reaction is to shut down and freeze. Do nothing. No screaming, no fighting back, just utter, paralyzing fear. He could see his father was also startled, the way he let go of him immediately, swore to God it was an accident. It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt he had ever heard from the man, even though not quite an apology. What had just happened must have been something big. Miles registered this, but didn't really process it. It was just too much, and all he could think of right now was to get out of there as fast as he could and find Tristan, because Tristan was comfort.

"Can I- Can I go now?" was all he managed to muster, avoiding his father's gaze. Waiting for his permission, too scared to move. He hated feeling this vulnerable, he hated that his father could reduce him to this state. He could sense tears fighting to get out — the pain expanding in his chest, his throat, pushing to make him break down — but he fought back. He would be damned before he cried in front of his father.

He rushed to school — literally, he had never covered the distance in less time — only to find another cold shower waiting for him. All their friends were shielding Tristan from him, of all things, and the reason was that stupid interview. The one he gave to get back at his dad, before it blew up in his own hands. Of course Tristan was pissed, they had _just_ agreed to keep their relationship private, but could he not see that this was not about him? The last thing Miles wanted was hurting him, he would never do it on purpose. If only Tris would come with him, so he could explain…

"I thought you actually liked me," Tristan accused him.

"I do like you!" Miles retorted, urgency in his voice.

Of course he liked him, was he kidding? Tris was pretty much the only person he liked, right now, and definitely the only one he wanted to deal with.

"No, you don't. You manipulated me."

Those words, those precise words, hit him harder than if Tristan had slapped him. Oh, the irony: hadn't he just said — an hour, a thousand years ago — pretty much the same thing to his dad? He clearly recalled shouting the words that started the fight, _all you ever do is manipulate everything_. He actually felt sick to his stomach, and like he couldn't breathe properly.

"No, no I didn't- I didn't do it, don't say that…" he weakly tried to argue.

But Tristan was already gone, his back towards him, out of his reach. Lost, forever. Because Miles knew all damn too well how awful feeling manipulated was, and he sure as hell knew nobody would come back for more.

Of course, such a perfect day could only improve, so he obviously ran into Maya in the hallway. She came up to him, to be exact, wanting to talk about his sudden and very public coming out.

"Just leave me alone!" he uttered harshly. At this point all the pain he felt was turning into fuming anger, and he definitely didn't need one Maya Matlin barging in.

It didn't work, clearly, Maya was not one to give up easily.

Miles finally sprinted out of her reach and managed to hide in the locker room. Alone, at last. He angrily tossed his stack of books over the wooden bench, and the loud sound of the impact resonated in the empty room.

It didn't make him feel any better. Not even a little bit.

He paced towards the back wall, leaning his head against the hard surface. His heart was pounding, his blood pumping through his temples, almost painful. His lower back hurt with every breath, and he felt a turmoil of emotions inside him — most of which he couldn't really place. He could feel the uncomfortable sting of tears pushing to come out, and he knew for a fact he was about to break down. He didn't even remember the last time he had cried…

He had almost given in, and resolved to wallow in his own pity for a little bit, when Maya ran through the door. Perfect, really, just what he needed. Gosh, could she seriously not leave him alone? Please?

"You know this is the boys' locker room?" he weakly informed her, and he couldn't help but feel embarrassed at how broken his voice sounded. It took a humongous effort to push back the tears but hey, he wasn't about to cry in front of Maya. Not a chance in hell.

"Like I care," said Maya. She hesitated for a second, looking intently at him. "Did you do this to hurt me?" she finally asked.

It took Miles a second to realise what the hell she was talking about. How did this have anything to do with her?

"You really think a lot of yourself…" he mocked her, trying and failing to come across as his usual sardonic self. It was typical Maya, making it all about herself.

"Then tell me what's going on, I'm just confused!"

"You're confused?!" he snapped, and his words resonated in the silence that fell between them. She looked concerned. She must have seen how much of a mess he was. He hated her for being there, _hated_ her. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Miles, talk to me… what's happening?" she begged, softly.

Miles took in a deep breath. Indeed, what was happening? Nothing new, if he had to be honest. He had tried for so long to please his dad, but it never worked. Then, he had tried to at least make him listen, and look how well that went: with a bruise on his back, and him hiding like a scared child in the school's locker room.

"I'm happening, Maya… The great tornado that is Miles Hollingsworth III is screwing up his life again," he confessed, his broken voice scraping painfully out of his throat.

"You had another fight with your dad?" she guessed.

Miles didn't answer to that. His eyes switched towards her, at loss for words. Why did she have to look so freaking commiserating all the time? Was he really such a wreck, to attract all this pity? He looked straight into her eyes, and for the briefest second he wondered if he should tell her. Could he? She was there, mere inches from him; all he had to do was speak up, and then… what? She would _console_ him? This was a terrible idea, what the hell was he thinking…

"I should find Tristan," he said instead, and tried to sidestep her and reach the door. Maya wasn't having it, of course.

"Miles, if something's going on at home you need to talk to some- Hey," she blocked him in his tracks, placing her tiny hands firmly on his shoulders. "You don't have to talk to me," she continued, "but to _someone_. When you don't tell people what's inside your head, it only gets worse."

Miles lost any remnant of fight, after that, and just stood there in silence. He felt completely empty by now, the battle against his tears getting harder by the minute. He leaned back against the wall, giving up on escaping the uncomfortable situation.

She'll get tired, eventually. She'll leave him alone.

They all did, at some point.

…

The rest of the day was painful, at school. Tristan was still avoiding him, and by now Miles was actively avoiding him too. Maya kept shooting him these concerned looks, as if he were a lost puppy or something, and he would have wanted to scream at her if only he wasn't feeling so on the verge of tears himself. Somehow, anyway, he made it to the end of classes, and he gratefully headed out at the sound of the last bell.

Only then, standing in front of the school steps, he realized that being out wasn't any better at all. It meant he should go back home, where in all likelihood he would find his dad. He pondered for a second his different options. Maybe he could go to Winston's, and game for a little? That is, if Winston wasn't still mad at him for messing with Tristan. Wrong line of thought, too painful. Maybe he should just keep busy, wander around for a while? Only he couldn't, he suddenly remembered. He had his road test, today, and he needed to go home, if he wanted to make it in time.

The mansion was eerily quiet, and seemingly empty. He thought back to Maya's words, the part about having to tell someone, and he still didn't know how to feel about it. Maybe he should tell his mother. Maybe she would know what to do. Or maybe, instead, she would think all of this was his fault, like his father thought. Maybe she would even be mad at him, and honestly Miles couldn't take any more yelling for the day.

He sneaked into his room, taking a deep breath. Had he really just considered telling his mum? Jeez, what was _wrong_ with him? He couldn't think of anything worse than going over it with her, saying it out loud.

Making it real.

He felt so ashamed, he just wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide there, where nobody would ever find out what had happened. He locked himself in his washroom and took off his shirt with a little effort. It might have been some form of morbid curiosity, but he needed to see it. He turned his back to the mirror, and there it was: a big, black bruise just below his waistline, stretching towards his side. Right where his backbone protruded, his skin had peeled off a little, scratched by the impact with the frame. He touched the damaged area around the edges, hesitantly, testing the waters. It didn't hurt too bad, but it was definitely a bit tender.

He turned around, facing himself in the mirror, still holding his shirt in his hands. He felt strangely empty, almost detached from his own body. He studied his reflection, as if looking for an answer to all the questions he didn't have the guts to ask himself. Maybe he should go talk to his mother, after all. Maybe that's what he was supposed to do.

…

He couldn't find her in the house. However, he did find the twins, doing their homework in Frankie's room. They hadn't seen their mum either, but Hunter informed him that Dad had locked himself in his study. Whatever. What, was Miles supposed to feel bad for him, now?

His sister looked at him almost teasingly. "What happened this time?" she asked, not too bothered.

Sometimes Miles really wondered why on earth he kept trying, with the twins. It was so obvious they didn't care about any of this. Just look at how quick Frankie was in dismissing him, without even knowing what had happened ( _Let me guess, you guys had another fight?_ ), or how Hunter pulled out his best sarcastic tone ( _Ah... you didn't like the course he took you to?_ ). Still, Miles always tried; even now, he attempted to explain to them what had really happened, the photo-op at the club, their joke of a dad. But of course it all had to be his fault in their eyes.

"Miles, you only look on the worst side of things," Frankie accused him. "Dad cares about you, and you care about him!"

"No, I don't," he retorted, blankly. He wouldn't let her see how much this affected him, he wouldn't be weak in front of the twins.

"So why do you spend all your time trying to get his attention?" she asked, and he almost choked at the way her words hit him. Was this really how she saw him?

"Ok, are you two living in some sort of alternative universe here?" he shot back, "Dad is always yelling at me!"

"Yeah, and most of the time you're yelling back! Or you started it," said Hunter, looking disapproving.

"You two are pretty much exactly alike," Frankie concluded, and Miles froze at her words.

"No I'm… I am nothing like him!"

He felt out of breath, as if air were being sucked from his lungs. Why would she say something like that? Why were people constantly likening him to _him_? He felt his chest tighten at the mere idea, and his heart pounded so hard he wondered if the twins could hear it. He had to calm down, he thought.

He had a driving test to pass.

…

In the end, he didn't even have to decide whether to tell his mum or not, as when he finally found her she didn't give him any time to speak. Instead, she scolded him for his behaviour that morning, and suggested he apologised to his father. Miles's stomach twisted at her words, at the mere idea of having to apologise for what had happened. But he didn't need to, eventually, and funnily enough it was his father himself to pull him out of the situation. He approached Miles in the patio as they were heading to the road test, reassuring his mother they were good. Then, Dad asked him if there was any way they could start fresh, and Miles thought that this was even worse than having to take the blame. Start fresh? _How?!_ He went for honesty, and told him that he genuinely didn't know. Surprisingly, that seemed to be good enough an answer.

Then his father pulled off that low stunt with the two identical convertibles, and a piece of Miles died inside him. His first instinct was to cry on top of his lungs that his forgiveness could not be bought, that the man was crazy if he thought even for a second that a new car was an adequate way to repay him for the ugly bruise he carried on his back, a constant reminder of this morning's 'accident'. No, it wasn't this easy, it couldn't be: his father had to do more than wave some money around, if he truly wanted to win him back.

After a split second, though, rationality kicked in. Because Miles knew, by now, that his dad would not change, he would never care; and at his lowest point, while assessing the damage on his own offended skin, he had sworn to himself to never let him hurt him again. Never to hope for a change of heart from this man who so clearly didn't consider him worthy of his love, or his attention — or an intact spine, for that matter. Therefore, let the car be welcome; no reason, really, not to try and at least gain something from all this misery. If he played it smartly enough, he thought, he might even be able to win Tristan back. After all, the boy had always had that soft-spot for grand gestures…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back with Part 2! Covers events up until 14x09. I had fun with this one, as most storylines in this part of the season were not from Miles's perspective, giving me a lot of room to work with. Reviews make my day, so please let me know what you think if you have a couple of minutes to spare! As always, enjoy :)**

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Chapter 2

…

The following weeks were a hurricane of contrasting emotions, most of which took Miles completely by surprise. He found himself living on edge, self-conscious of his every move around his dad, afraid to trigger him again. Fear of his father was nothing new, he had always felt deferentially uneasy around him, but _before_ he had always handled it by fabricating a never ending challenge, one that would make him worthy of the man's attention and respect. All of that was gone, now; no desire to provoke his father was left, and all Miles's energy seemed to be focused on alimenting these new irrational feelings of terror in his presence, as if he were in constant danger of... what, exactly, he didn't know. Being hit? Part of him knew that nothing had really changed, his father was always the same man, bullying and manipulating his way on people, but not really dangerous in that way. Part of him also knew he was a big boy, now, he could very well take a beating, if it came down to that. Still, irrational fear. A wounded puppy, that's what he was. How majestic.

On the other hand, Tris was back at his side. The stunt with the new car, the designer-sunglasses look, and the public invitation to dinner at the mansion had worked its miracle, and Miles was determined to enjoy all the good that came with it. Tristan was the one person he could count on, who was there for him all the time, who always knew how to make him feel better, without even trying. He had even considered _telling_ him, for the briefest second, revelling in the image of his boyfriend's loving concern and the affection that would have followed. But that was never really an option, was it? Miles felt too much shame at the mere idea of mentioning what had happened, let alone enduring the interrogation that would come after that, the consequences. Besides, he wasn't even sure their relationship was strong enough for something like this. They were friends, yes, good friends, but things were changing so quickly, all these new and amazing feeling were coming in the way, and Miles wasn't sure of anything apart from what he always knew: that he was on his own. If not even his family — his siblings, his own mother — were ready to come through for him, then how could he expect his boyfriend of two weeks to be any different?

After a day or two, the bruise on his back didn't hurt that much anymore; still, Miles was hyper-aware of its existence, and in a way he was glad he and Tristan were not really physical, yet. For good measure, he tended to avoid bringing the boy to his room, preferring more public spots like the couch in the den, where his shirt was sure to stay firmly in its place and cover his misery.

When the mark eventually faded, Miles was happy to feel a sense of relief, like some of the worry he constantly felt was being lifted from his shoulders. Still, surprisingly, he also felt something else, a contrasting feeling of... disappointment? It took him forever to figure it out: it was like a part of him, a minuscule and hidden part of him, knew that now there was no hope. Nobody could find out, at this point, there were no traces left. He was on his own, once again.

Still, he felt on edge all the time, and the mere presence of his dad was capable of precipitating him into a state of agitation. Miles started avoiding at all costs being alone with him in the house, and often he simply couldn't stand being under the same roof, period. He took on crashing at Winston's way more often than he used to, day and night, just to hide for a while. Winston was safe, because he would never ask him about it. Chewy had known him since literally forever, and had witnessed his father's anger towards him so many times that it was nothing new. Miles knew that he cared, and felt awful every time he overheard Miles and his dad yelling at each other. But Winston also knew better than to expect Miles to talk, afterwards.

So Winston was safe, and Miles could casually hide at his place like it was no big deal, like it had happened before, no questions asked. Some days were ok, they would play video games and it was as if nothing at all was going on. Other times were a bit harder, especially whenever something at home had made him feel mere inches from the next big fight. Those times he would pull out a joint, urge Winston to smoke with him. He had protested a bit, at first ( _Dude, not in my room, are you crazy?_ ) but Miles knew that he could count on him, as always. They would lie with their backs on the rooftop just outside of Winston's window, the strong scent of weed burning through their lungs, looking at the stars on the early night sky. He would feel at peace, in those moments; almost like things could be normal again.

But even Winston was not as available as he had grown used to, what with dating his sister and all, and Miles just had to learn how to get a grip on himself on his own. He wasn't very good at it, either. Weed became his new best friend, as it was the only thing that seemed to keep his anxiety down. And there was nothing wrong with it, right? He had smoked plenty before, it was absolutely normal. And yes, he was buying way more than he'd ever had but hey, extreme circumstances call for extreme measures. Or at least that's what he liked telling himself.

…

Things were going well with Tristan, or so he thought. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and they were hanging in the den, discussing the history project they were working on together. Tristan had talked Miles into choosing war fashion as a topic, and Miles had agreed just to keep seeing the sparkle in his eyes every time uniforms came up in the discussion. The mood changed instantly, though, as Miles's father walked in the room.

"Hard at work, I see?" he said, in his signature mocking tone. Miles's blood started boiling in his veins. Yes, they were making out, so what?

Tristan, blissfully unaware, started engaging in conversation about their project but Miles — who was a nervous wreck, like always when near his father — stopped him harshly. There was no point in talking, really, once his dad decided to be disappointed. Better give up already, and save themselves some trouble.

He hated how his father always managed to push him over the edge, no matter how much he tried to resist. Even now, as Tristan attempted to make him relax, all Miles could do was shy away from his touch.

"Okay, just- please don't, you're making it worse," he mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes.

Tristan could hardly hide his concern, and Miles just wanted to scream. At him, at his dad, at anything that was in his way. Then, Tristan confessed he had spoken to Winston, and that they both were worried about him, and Miles lost it, at that. Seriously, what was _wrong_ with them? Were they talking about him behind his back, now? His boyfriend and his best friend, how great!

He immediately calmed down, though, when he saw the hurt look on Tristan's face. He was doing it again, wasn't he? He was hurting the people he cared about.

"Just… just tell me if it's me," Tristan whispered, and something inside Miles broke. He felt the urge to reach out and give Tristan a hug, wrap him in his arms and open up about how lost and scared he felt. But he couldn't let his guard down completely, with Tris, because he would have sensed that something was up, and he would have asked all those damned questions. So, Miles told him that all was good, that there was no problem; and he just wished he could believe his own words.

Pushing Tristan away initiated a vicious cycle, though, because now he was alone even more often than before. He kept smoking more and more, to the point people around him started to notice. Miles knew he would never be able to forget the look on Frankie's face when she found his stash in his room. She looked so hurt, and disappointed at him, it almost made him not want to smoke it anymore. But of course he did, as his dad yelling at him first thing in the morning called for a joint of massive proportions, if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. Only the previous day, Tristan had found him floating in his pool while he should have been at school for their presentation (annoying side effect of his self-medication was: he kept forgetting about things he needed to do; it's like he just couldn't find it in him to care). He did try, though, this time: stayed sober long enough to go to school to fix things. He talked to Perino, he even wore that stupid war uniform to make Tristan happy.

Things didn't really go as he had expected, though, and when he walked into what he thought to be a last minute rehearsal, he found the twins and Chewy lined up next to Tristan. An intervention, as they called it. And maybe he should have been glad that he had friends and siblings who cared enough to stage something like this to save him from himself. But he was obviously wired the wrong way, because all he felt was betrayal at the idea that they had gone behind his back, discussing his issues when he wasn't there. And it hurt, _God_ it hurt. He was way past saving, anyway, and he was painfully aware of that.

So he lashed out, because that's all he knew when he felt cornered. He yelled and attacked, pretending confidence he didn't have. He jumped at Frankie — sweet, caring, well-meaning Frankie — and he saw her face drop as he hurt her. He truly was a horrible person. But he was about to outdo himself, as always. When the lovely guy who somehow had stuck with him through all the ugliness dared to step in to defend his own sister, Miles flipped on him too, spitting out the most hurtful things he could think of. Anything, just to shut him up.

" _Are you really that desperate for somebody to love you?"_

He regretted the words the moment he said them. Why, why on earth had he said something this mean? He didn't want to hurt Tristan. If anything, he wanted to burst down in tears, and apologise, and hug him, and kiss him. But he couldn't do any of those things. So he just stared at him, the hurt look in Tristan's eyes making him hate himself even more than he normally did. Gee, he was a mess. Maybe the people he cared about truly were better off without him.

…

Then, the car accident happened. Seriously, sometimes Miles wondered what he had done, to turn the universe against him this much. All he had wanted to do was to give Maya a lift, after almost running her over in his car. Then, sure, he could have left, but the peace and quiet of the parking lot had seemed like his best chance to hide from the world for a while. In retrospect, of course, smoking that joint while he was there had not been his brightest idea. And it led him right into someone else's mini-van's door. Maya was getting visibly worked up as Miles drove away from the scene without a second thought, and she started yelling at him to stop and get back, like the voice of reason she always was. But Miles couldn't, he just couldn't go back there.

"I have pot in my bloodstream, Maya!" he yelled back, urging her to _understand_. "That means a DUI. Right before the elections, you have no idea what he'd do to me!"

Maya went quiet for a second, and he legitimately thought she must be hearing his heart pounding, in the silence that swallowed them. Did she understand what he was trying to say? Had she put the pieces together, yet? He knew for a fact he must have looked terrified, as he could barely keep himself together.

"Ok… let's just drive," she feebly replied.

If they were very lucky, maybe his dad would not be home. Maybe he could call the garage and get the damage fixed before anyone could notice, and all this would disappear like a scary nightmare.

…

Of course they weren't that lucky. Miles managed to miraculously hide the car from his dad until the next morning, giving him some false hope of actually being able to fix things, for once in his life. Maya stopped by his place before school, worried as hell, and he even reassured her that everything was going to be fine. Who was he kidding? He knew he couldn't possibly get away with it, Miles was never this lucky. And in fact, right when he was starting to think he could actually sit down and breathe, in came his father, marching into his room. And it didn't make any difference that Maya was there; his dad had never shied away from calling him out on his crap for the world to see. A failure. A disappointment. That's all that Miles was, anyway.

"Let's talk about it later," Miles offered, hoping this would be enough. Hoping his dad would spare him the humiliation, and let him handle things privately. Of course he didn't.

"Oh, no, no no no!" his father cut him off, his anger mounting each time he reiterated his disagreement. He grabbed Miles roughly by the arm, pulling him threateningly closer. "No, we will talk about it _now_!"

Miles had learned years ago how to cope with his dad manhandling him in front of people: his siblings; Chewy; hell, it wasn't even the first time it happened in front of Maya. But that was _before_ , as awful and humiliating as it was, it was back when he was absolutely sure that his father wouldn't hit him. Now things were different, paralyzing fear and all, and Miles was almost certain that right this instant, in front of Maya, he was about to get a beating. The grip on his arm was strong, and starting to feel really uncomfortable; his heart raced in his chest, and he saw that Maya noticed it, his dad's hold, Miles's uneasiness about it. Man, let it be over quickly, he silently pleaded.

But then Maya started blabbering that crap about a hit and run — but not their own. And part of him was quite surprised that she cared enough to step in when things got ugly; and part of him was just so relieved that he wouldn't, after all, be hit like a child in front of his ex-girlfriend; and a big part of him just wanted her to shut up and stop before things got worse, because anything his dad could do to him now would be ten times better than what he would eventually do when he found out the truth, and that he lied about it.

But that would be later, and at least she won't be there to witness.

When his father finally left the room, Miles sat down next to Maya on the bed, empty and exhausted.

"So… that's what the truth sounds like, uh?"

…

Things precipitated quickly, after that. The police. More lies. More fear, and more weed to cope with it. Maya panicking. The truth, at last. And his father, omnipresent, forever disappointed but nevertheless always pulling him out of trouble. And he knew they were lucky, indeed, that their irresponsible stunt was so promptly forgiven thanks to his dad's influence and mellow words; he was happy and relieved that Maya wasn't getting into any real trouble for this — because he knew he had screwed up hard, this time, and yes, he was lucky to get away with it with nothing more than the proverbial slap on the wrist. Somehow, though, seeing the furious expression on his father's face as he ushered him into the car, Miles didn't feel lucky at all.

The ride home was filled with yelling about how incredibly irresponsible he was, and what was he thinking, and lying about it? Did Miles not realise how bad this behaviour made him, his father, look?

Miles simply didn't have the energy to answer, which somehow seemed to infuriate his father even more. When they got home he pushed Miles inside with rough moves, grabbed his shoulder and marched him into his bedroom, where more shouting and screaming awaited. He grabbed both his arms, now, and the grip was so tight that Miles had to fight against the tears the pain brought to his eyes. Feeling his throat burn, he forced himself to respond to his father's harsh words the way he wanted him to, _I'm sorry_ -s and all, and he just hoped his voice didn't come out half as broken as it sounded in his head.

And the fear, the heart pounding, because he knew this time there was no miracle Maya to pull him out of this. He knew this time he was definitely going to get it. He didn't even know what he was afraid of. That his dad would shove him against the wall one more time? That he would punch him in the face, slap him?

Eventually, what happened was far less dramatic. When he got tired of yelling, his father squeezed his arms hard enough to practically lift Miles off the floor. The next second, he pulled back so harshly that Miles lost his balance and landed roughly at the foot of his bed. And it didn't hurt, not really. It could have been a lot worse, he thought, his own fast-paced heartbeat pounding inside his head as his father marched away from his room, footsteps fading into silence.

He took a deep breath, in and out, trying to calm himself down, to process what had just happened. It was all in his head, wasn't it? His dad didn't _actually_ hit him, Miles was just so afraid that he would it was almost as if it had happened. He felt a sense of uneasiness and confusion filling him as he kept getting flashes of the blow he was sure to get, but didn't come, and he didn't really know how to feel about the whole thing.

At least he had managed not to cry.

Miles braced his arms, gently stroking the spots where he could still feel the grip of his father's hands. He knew there'd be bruising, he could feel it.

He'd just have to wear long sleeves until they faded.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Third and last part of this fic, covering the remaining three episodes of 14A. I took my own spin on Hero vs. Villain and the whole Triles break-up… I'm interested to hear what you guys think!**

 **Hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

Chapter 3

…

After the incident with the car, things precipitated quickly. Quite surprisingly, the harshest stroke came from Tristan, the same Tristan who had miraculously forgiven him for the ugly words he had said at the intervention — words that, Miles knew, had hurt him deeply.

Truth is, Miles should have expected it. His own head was not in the right place to build a relationship at the moment, as he was constantly either too stoned or too anxious to care about anything else. Still, when Tristan confronted him in the middle of the hall about skipping the assembly, Miles really wasn't prepared for the outburst of jealousy that would follow.

"I'm surprised you're alone," remarked Tristan, and at first Miles didn't even understand what he meant. It quickly became clear that Tris was unhappy about him driving Maya to her appointment, the day of the intervention, as if that was a crime or something.

"So, you still have feelings for her?" Tris finally asked, and Miles was seriously taken aback by the question.

"Because I gave her a ride?"

"Because you stared at her across the hall, Miles."

And to that he didn't answer. He didn't even remember staring at Maya, truth be told, but that was beside the point. Because the thing is, Tristan thought he would do that, he thought that Miles would string him along while at the same time hanging out with Maya behind his back. And that hurt, more than he thought it would.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you don't have feelings for Maya," Tristan insisted.

But what was the point. He could have told him whatever he wanted to hear, but Tristan had already decided what to believe. He had already decided Miles was the bad guy, the manipulative one, the one who purposely hurt the people around him. A disappointment. Why bother, trying to change his mind. He was just the last one in the long series of people who left him, right after they saw a glimpse of the real him. So he stood there in silence, facing the boy he liked more than he had ever liked anyone, waiting for what was to come.

Tristan didn't disappoint, refusing to go down in silence. He didn't yell, nor cause a scene, but the words he carefully chose seemed designed specifically to hurt him as deep as humanly possible. He called him abusive. He called him a terrible person. And he stated in so many words what Miles already knew: he had nobody, and he was completely and utterly alone.

…

The silver lining in all this mess was that the elections were finally a mere few days away, so this whole nightmare was soon to be over. On Friday morning, the Hollingsworths were having breakfast in the patio. For once, their dad seemed to be in a good mood, which made it bearable for Miles to sit at the same table. The twins were making fun of their father for the latest interview he gave, and even Miles ended up joining in their laughter at the way he had tried to sound 'cool' to appeal to the youth. Adults were always terrible at that, and their dad was clearly no exception. It was a nice, light-hearted moment, of the kind that was so rare in the Hollingsworth household. So, of course, it wasn't meant to last.

Andrea — the woman his dad had an affair with, who also happened to be his campaign manager — walked in, fake-smiling her way and condescending as usual. She started briefing their father in preparation for the day's events, and Miles drifted off from the conversation until a sentence shook him back to reality.

"They may ask you about the Oomfchat cheerleading scandal," said Andrea, dead serious.

Their father laughed, clearly not having a clue what she was talking about, but Miles didn't miss the way Frankie's face dropped at Andrea's words. He kept scrutinising her as Hunter explained for their father's benefit what Oomfchat was and how it worked.

"And why on earth would anyone want that?" their dad asked, amusement in his voice.

"To send boob-shots?" Miles answered, and at his words everyone's face turned instantly towards him. "What?" He challenged them, "That's what the cheerleaders were doing for money!"

Their dad turned towards Frankie, asking her if she knew anything about the ordeal. She was quick to deny it, reassuring everyone that it was probably just a rumour, and anyway reminding them that she quit cheerleading a long time ago. Miles could sense something dodgy, in his sister's tone, but their dad seemed satisfied with her answer. Frankie's features finally softened as Dad kissed her on the top of her head.

"I'll see you at the forum today!" he greeted. He then pulled Hunter up from his chair, and as the two of them followed Andrea inside, Miles and Frankie were left alone on the patio.

Miles turned to his sister, a knowing look in his eyes.

"You got Dad fooled, but not me," he let her know, leaning towards her.

"Hey, I did work hard on this forum," she tried to muddy the waters.

Gosh, she was such a terrible liar. Miles felt a crippling feeling crawl inside him, as he braced himself to confront her.

"Oomfchatting your boobs for money!? I've known you for 14 years, Frankie. I know your lying face."

He saw said face drop once again at his words, and that was more confirmation than he ever needed.

"Ok, I did it _once_ ," she confessed, "But then I quit! What do I do?"

She sounded so desperate, and Miles's heart sank at the sight of her conflicted face. The thought of his baby sister selling boob pics was quite disturbing, but it was also beside the point. If any of this came to their father's ears, he would certainly turn all of his ugliness to her. And she didn't deserve it, not for one single, stupid mistake.

"Have you learned nothing from Dad's political manoeuvrings?" he asked, urging her to _think_ , "You just need a scapegoat."

"Give them someone to blame…" she repeated, testing the idea in her head. Miles saw a glimpse of mischief reappearing, and took a sigh of relief. Maybe not all was lost, for Frankie.

"But better figure it out soon," he insisted, "because if you're accused then that 'epic fail' can take Dad's whole campaign, and then he'll hate your guts!"

He stressed the last few words, it was important that she understood. Frankie had no reason to fear their dad, based on her experience. But Miles knew all too well that, if any of this came to the surface, that would change very quickly.

And, in fact, not half a day had passed before all hell broke loose. It seemed that Miles's track-record of bad luck when it came to their father was now rubbing onto his sister. Someone had made a Facerange page outing Frankie as the mastermind behind the cheerleading scandal, and of course a reporter asked about it during the Youth Forum. Miles was not there at the time — avoiding all-things campaign and all — but he could only imagine how well that must have gone down, with their father. He heard from Hunter that Dad had dragged Frankie inside and locked the two of them up with Andrea to probably plan some damage-control. By the time Miles got home, Frankie was nowhere to be found. Which was understandable, obviously, but still made him a bit uneasy.

He had no clue what their dad had told her, but later that day he learned from Winston that Frankie had been really upset about it. Miles's stomach knotted in surprising new ways, imagining a bit too vividly the confrontation they must have had. He just hoped it hadn't resulted in their dad lashing out at her (or worse) because she didn't deserve that.

It must have been bad enough, though, because Frankie didn't come home that night, going over at Grandma's instead to avoid their father. He called her, later in the evening, to check on her. She sounded distressed, like she had cried a lot, and Miles's heartbeat raced to dangerous levels as panic overcame him. He tried to calm down, as he urged her to please tell him what had happened.

And she did.

And Miles finally let out a quiet sigh of relief and started breathing normally again because, yes, it had been ugly, and he felt for his sister. But not as ugly as he had feared.

…

"Have you seen Frankie?" asked Hunter, rushing downstairs the next morning. She was supposed to be back by now, for that stupid press conference in which she was to take the blame for the entire Oomfchat scandal like the good mayoral daughter that she was, and who cares if she didn't actually do it. To be honest, now that he was sure their dad had not touched her, Miles was starting to see the irony in how, for once, it was Frankie to screw up his precious campaign, and without even trying. Let's face it, a child pornography scandal was so much worse than anything he had ever done to cause trouble, he was almost proud of her. Besides, now that Frankie had witnessed first-hand how unpleasant their dad could be with those who disappointed him, maybe she would open her eyes to how less than perfect of a father he was.

But Hunter seemed actually agitated, spitting out broken sentences about how she had definitively ruined all of their father's chances to win the elections. Miles could not believe he would actually side with their dad on this, and he felt an urge to step in and speak up for their sister. After all, he had been in Frankie's position enough times to know how _not_ fun being the screw-up was. And they should at least be honest and recognize who the blame belonged to, here: their father wanted Frankie to confess to something that she didn't even do, just to make him look better for the press. That's all that mattered, anyway, right?

"The guy's a jerk!" he finished, emphatically.

He had always been gifted with great timing, Miles, and in fact their dad walked in right that instant, sarcastically remarking he was glad to know that his son felt that way about him. He lost no time on it, though, and went on demanding to know where Frankie was, noting how she was supposed to be there already.

And Miles snapped, at that. Frankie was just a little girl, how could he be so hard on her? There had to be something that was more important to him that this stupid campaign!

Apparently not, though. His father's face fell, all of his frustration seeping through his features.

"Months, months I have been working on this, years, she will not screw it up for me!" he pleaded.

"You would rather be a mayor than a good father?" Miles hurled back, incredulous. Sure, he was used to his dad being a dick to him, but he never thought he would show this lack of care for Frankie's feelings. He wouldn't let his sister go through this, not if he could do anything to prevent it.

"Are you ungrateful?!" his father rebuked, "I give you kids everything!"

"Yeah, everything except your love, and respect, and even common decency!"

At this last outburst, his father completely lost it. Miles saw his face contort in rage as he pulled back to aim at him, and his instinct kicked in before he fully realized what was going on. He ducked on his side, avoiding being hit by the mug that had just been thrown at him. Seconds later, he heard it smashing against the wall behind him, the sharp sound filling the sudden silence.

He turned around as if in a dream, as his brain didn't seem able to process what had just happened. He saw Hunter, arms raised to protect his head, mere inches from where the mug had shattered. His brother's eyes were filled with terror like he had never seen before. This was bad, Miles thought, this was really bad. One thing was his dad yelling at him, but almost hurting his brother? What had Hunter even done to deserve it?

The silence was suddenly broken by their father's words. His voice was mellow, apologetic.

"Hunter… are you… Hunter, I'm so sorry…"

"As if you care who you hurt!" Miles screamed on top of his lungs, his shaken spirit hiding behind the aggressive tone. He was scared, he had never been this scared in his life.

The rest happened so fast, he didn't even have time to understand it. His dad, angrily talking down to him; Miles, taken by some sudden fury, trying to push him out of his way; and then the slap, sharp, striking him right across his face, the full force of the blow turning his head around.

All was silence, after that. He could hear his own heart racing in his chest, his blood pumping furiously through his temples. He could hear his brother, panting at the other side of the room.

"I didn't mean to do that," their dad feebly whispered, the only sound breaking the silence.

The right side of his face hurt, his cheekbone throbbing under the skin. Miles kept staring at the wall, his head still turned by his father's blow, intentioned not to look at him. He could feel that Hunter had also frozen in his spot; neither of them had moved as much as an inch. He felt completely overwhelmed. He was so angry, absolutely furious. And he was terrified, his body tense, as if preparing for another attack. And his brother, gosh, his brother... how could this have happened in front of Hunter? Being hit was bad enough, but in front of Hunter?!

The silence was finally broken by their father's phone ringing. It was the campaign headquarters, so he obviously had to take it, since that was the only important thing in his life.

As their dad left the room, Miles finally dared to turn around, slowly, to check on Hunter. His brother's eyes, wide and scared, were full of disbelief, unable to accept that their father would just leave them there after _this_ to go pick up a phone call. And Miles hated his dad even more than he ever had, because it truly was careless, and cruel, to force Hunter to witness what had just happened and then drop him there like an unwanted bag.

He had to check on his brother, talk to him. Miles knew all too well how scary and confusing this all must be for him, how overwhelmed Hunter must feel right now. He walked up to him, getting so close he was nearly touching him. He had to be strong, for his little brother. He had to push back the tears, like he always did, control his voice, make sure it didn't sound too broken, or too scared.

"Hey… are you ok?" he asked, softly.

Hunter nodded back, visibly shaken. It was a stupid question, Miles knew it, but he had to say something. He had to let Hunter know that he cared, that this was not ok, that he would do better to protect him, in the future.

"That can never happen again," he stated, final. It was important that Hunter knew, that he understood.

He would keep him safe.

…

After that, Miles dragged his mum to his room, agitated, because this time he couldn't not tell her. This wasn't about him anymore, now that his brother had been pulled into the mess. It didn't matter how scared or ashamed he felt, Miles had to do something.

So he told her. He told her about the mug flying across the room, smashing on the wall mere inches from Hunter's head. She had to side with them, now, right? She couldn't just dismiss something like this, Hunter could have been hurt! But his mother just stared back at him with puzzled eyes, urging him to calm down.

"You're not listening, Mum!" he snapped. How could she not feel what he felt? How could she not be panicking, rushing to check on Hunter, hunting down their dad until he packed his bags and never came back?

"I'm just trying to get a clear picture, here, of what happened," she explained, a bit too calm for his taste.

"What happened…" he hesitated for a second, fighting the urge to keep this hidden. But he had to tell her, if it would protect Hunter, so he just took a deep breath and collected himself, "is that he _hit_ me."

Unexpectedly, Miles suddenly felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For over two months he had been hiding this secret, and he realised now all he had wanted was for her to know. Still, this was a huge thing, for him to tell her — to tell anyone, really — and his body tensed in anticipation for what her reaction would be.

"Out of the blue?" she finally asked, as if that made any difference. "That doesn't make sense!"

And Miles spirit fell. How could he have possibly expected this to go down any other way? The feeling of helplessness invaded him again as he stormed off, stepping back to put some distance between himself and his mother.

"I mean, was there an altercation...?" she went on asking.

"That shouldn't matter, I'm his son!" he tried to point out. He couldn't believe this was really all she had to say.

"I just find it hard to believe that he would deliberately and intentionally hurt you," said his mother.

"But he does, he does it all the time. He's a bully, Mum, he bullies everyone!"

How could it be so difficult to make her understand? Was this really just not a big deal? He couldn't believe that, not after seeing Hunter's face as the mug just missed him.

Just then, he saw that his brother was standing in the doorway, listening to their exchange.

"Tell her!" he urged him to speak up. Maybe if it came from him she would believe it, maybe she would finally listen.

Hunter seemed taken aback, and Miles almost regretted pulling him into this. It wasn't fair, none of this was Hunter's responsibility.

"I- I don't know, Miles did kind of push him first," his brother eventually blurted out.

Miles's heart sank in his chest. "Seriously?!"

"You did! And you've really been on him for being a bad dad!"

"Because he is! Open your eyes!"

But maybe Miles was the one exaggerating things, if even Hunter thought this was his fault. Maybe having a mug thrown at you was a reasonable punishment for being a smartmouth; maybe it wasn't his dad who had endangered Hunter: it was him. Both his brother and his mum seemed to think so, anyway.

"Look, why don't we talk about this when we've had a bit of time to cool off?" his mother tried.

Miles flinched away from her, appalled. Deep down he knew he shouldn't doubt himself — this was _not_ normal. What if, while they waited to 'cool off', their dad hurt someone else? What if it was Frankie, this time? What if the next mug didn't miss?

"Whatever, keep your head in the sand," he conceded, defeated. "I'll deal with it myself."

…

Miles didn't even know what he expected, as he went to find his father downstairs. His heart was racing in his chest as he willingly locked himself in a room, alone with the man — after all, he'd spent the best part of the last couple of months avoiding him like the plague. But it didn't make any difference now, as he had nothing left to lose. His mother, his siblings, no help will ever come from them. He had to at least try and take care of things himself.

Unsurprisingly, his father tried to divert the attention, interrupting him to say how _so sorry_ he was for this morning. Miles cut him off, this time, tired of listening to his crap and for once not letting him talk over him — no matter how many times he swore to love him and the twins. Miles knew it was all bullshit. There was no love for them, in his father, only convenience. They were just props, useful to his goals when they behaved, and deserving of being lashed out at when they didn't. And what was the point in him saying he would try harder? He had been saying that for months, it meant nothing by this point.

"Then what do you want, Miles?"

A tense pause followed the question, as Miles gathered the courage to speak up.

"I want you to move out," he finally said.

His father didn't even try to hide his amusement for the sake of appearances. "Of my own house?" he asked, sardonic.

"You're hurting your family," Miles said, simply.

"Ok, you know what, this is getting a little bit much," his father rose from his chair, "So I think we're done."

Miles felt panic growing inside him as his father approached him. He tried to explain himself, get him to listen, but his father kept talking over him, his temper rising.

"Do you want to listen to yourself? Because you're talking nonsense, as usual!"

"Stop, STOP! This isn't nonsense!" Miles fought back, desperate for the man to hear him.

"Do you maybe think that _you_ are the problem?" his father attacked, and his tone made Miles's blood freeze in his veins. "That maybe your exemplary behaviour has caused your sister to think that it's ok to run away from her responsibilities?!"

Miles's own rage got the best of him at those words. His vision got blurry as he fought to keep himself together, to block out his father's accusations that _everything is always your fault_. God, Miles wanted to hurt him, so bad. But he didn't, in the end. No matter what, he was his father, and Miles just couldn't hit him. As he watched the man leave, completely disregarding him as the loser that he was, Miles could feel the tears burning at the corners of his eyes. He couldn't believe how often he found himself thinking this, in recent times, but this was the absolute lowest he'd ever been. He'd hit rock bottom, and there was no way out of here.

Completely defeated, Miles fled back to his room. He felt utterly alone, and as helpless and hopeless as he'd ever been. There was not a soul, in this house nor on this planet, who would ever stand up for him. Everyone left, got tired, stopped caring as they got a glimpse of the mess he was. And why should they stay? His father was right about him all along. There was nothing lovable about him, just a big, hot mess that could only create destruction and cause pain to others. And why on Earth would anyone want that?

He paced up and down his room, fists tight as he unsuccessfully attempted to calm down. He needed to get out of this house. He needed to get far, far away from his dad, somewhere he could start fresh, without his looming presence over his shoulder. His mind went to the twins, to how awful the mere idea was of abandoning them like this. Truth is, though, without Miles around there would be no danger; their dad wouldn't constantly be mad, and they would be safe.

Miles walked up to his desk and grabbed a pen and paper. There would be no time for proper goodbyes, but the least he could do was write down some sort of explanation for them. He doubted they would miss him, but they were still his siblings. He owed this much to them. Words came out in a flow, and before he realised it he had written two full pages. He stared briefly at his own handwriting, but soon snapped out of it, folded the letter and sealed it in a blank envelope. He knew if he took the time to read it back he might lose the courage to do what he needed to.

In a rush of adrenalin, Miles grabbed a duffle bag and stuffed it with a few essentials. With one last look to his room, the bag in one hand and the letter in the other, he set off. One last stop at Degrassi, to see the twins one more time. Then, the unknown.

He didn't know it then, but that would be the beginning of the end.

…

Fin


End file.
